


Rewind

by ottermo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Memory Loss
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-17 11:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3527480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's just a head injury. It wasn't supposed to undo everything they'd only just started to be. </p><p>Clarke has amnesia and it's not easy for either of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Impact

The terrible thing was that it had started out so well.

Bellamy rubbed his tired eyes, trying to massage some feeling back into his sore temples. He felt as though he’d lived an entire lifetime since waking up that morning, as though every bone in his body were crying out to be laid to rest.

As bad luck went, he was probably one of life’s leading experts, and he had been a cynic from an early age – but if, at this moment, a mystic being had appeared before him and revealed that the universe had been entirely set up as a cruel joke on Bellamy Blake, he’d have believed it.

And to think that it had started out so _perfectly._

 

* * *

 

 

Kissing Clarke had not been a choice - not on an intellectual level, at least. He remembered thinking, as he suddenly found his mouth pressed against hers, that this might indeed have been a terrible mistake, but that worry only lasted a split second, before she was clearly reciprocating happily.

That had been three days ago. After a brief period of disbelief, during which they both went about their daily business in the pretence that nothing whatsoever had taken place, they had finally discussed it, albeit briefly:

“That—earlier—was that—”

“Completely an accident.”

“Good. Just so we’re clear. We can’t… We have a job to do here.”

“The thing is, Princess, I’m terrible at learning from my own mistakes, and it could happen again at literally _any_ time.”

She had looked at him, all mock innocence, and claimed not to know if he was serious or not, though he suspected she knew perfectly well, since she was ready this time and was kissing him back before he could even consider the repercussions.

Things had lead to… other things.

Nobody in the camp seemed the slightest bit surprised to see them emerge from the same tent in the morning, and Bellamy couldn’t help feeling the slightest bit bashful at the thought of every single occupant of Camp Jaha having known, all this time, when it had taken him so long to catch on himself.

Determined not to play the lovesick teenager at a time when their people needed them, he had studiously _not_ stared at her the entire time she was giving the new Council their briefing, and had made sure he definitely was _not_ gazing at her longingly over the midday meal. If he thought about kissing her at all, even a bit, it was purely biological and not his fault at all.

It was the sudden shift, with no proper lead-up, that had turned his world so completely upside down. It felt, at the same time, both entirely unnatural and the most natural thing in the world – the two feelings tumbling over one another in his head until all he was left with was an almost sickeningly heady joy. Bliss, he might be inclined to call it.

The second night, even better than the first, clinched it – there was no mistaking this sensation. The old phrase ‘on top of the world’ came to mind. Bellamy Blake was, despite the universe’s best efforts so far, finally, actually, truly _happy_.

That was, until the universe noticed it had slipped up.

 

* * *

 

 

You didn’t worry automatically if a kru came back later than expected from this or that mission of medium importance, particularly if the danger level was not considered critical. It almost always turned out to be an explicable delay – the chance of further exploration, an encounter with skittish, but not deadly, mutated wildlife, or simply the kru leader getting lost. (It happened, okay? To everyone sooner or later. He’d just been setting the standard low so his people could relax.)

The point was, when it got to be a few hours after sundown and there was still no sign of Clarke and the group she’d led out of camp, nobody was panicking, not even Bellamy, who had managed to distract himself in her absence by drawing up the itinerary for the next few days. There was unchartered territory to map out, treaties to draw up, plans to be made that he was happy to mastermind. He’d discovered something of a knack, though he had to admit he did even better when he had Clarke to bounce off of. Looking back, they’d always clicked like that, even though their ideas had diverged dramatically on isolated occasions. He’d been a bit of an idiot not to see it, really, he thought to himself as he marked up the latest map, a smile creeping its way across his face.

There was a sudden, audible outcry at the camp’s border, and straight away he snapped to attention. When his own mission had returned that afternoon, he’d ordered a guard changeover and he recognised the voice of Rhodes, the young upstart who’d been keen to take up the post at the main entrance.

He was running toward the commotion before he really registered the need to move, and was just in time to see five battered-looking patrol soldiers entering the gate. It had been a seven-person kru, and he scanned automatically for Clarke’s familiar silhouette before reaching them, knowing she’d be able to give him a no-frills account of what the fuss was all about.

He recognised Monroe and Luke, but couldn’t make out the other figures in the half-dark. They were turning away from him, in any case, ushered away by one of the guards. Bellamy heard running footsteps from one side of him and he was overtaken by the blur of motion that was Abigail Griffin in emergency mode: instantly he quickened his own pace. He refused to consider what might have happened – later, he’d wish he had given himself those few seconds to prepare himself for what he saw.

The five patrollers had carried, between them, two makeshift stretchers, which had now been laid down on the ground. Abby was already kneeling between them and frantically pulling medical supplies out of her kit, and Bellamy saw in horror that the nearest victim had sustained terrible injuries – one arm almost completely crushed by an unknown force, blood gluing the mangled remains of the limb to the fabric of the stretcher. And the man’s head – a deep gash had split his face in two and Bellamy was certain he’d lost an eye. Didn’t look good.

Abby was angled away from the supine man, and Bellamy wondered dully if it was already too late. Either the other patient was in an even worse condition, or this poor guy was too far gone to be helped. Neither option was a happy thought.

But there was a third option, Bellamy later realised, and that was the fact that Abby Griffin, level-headed and logical as she might well be, would ignore any injuries in her first patient _if the second was her daughter_.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t watch. It wasn’t Clarke’s face, in any case, couldn’t be, there was too much blood and not enough skin, and for a few seconds he thought he might vomit as he turned away and stumbled towards nothing in particular. Someone steadied him, he didn’t see who, and when his head cleared enough to speak he had someone explain it to him.

There’d been a tremor, it seemed, in the small mountain range Clarke’s kru had been assessing, and one of their men had been trapped under a fallen rock. Clarke had tried to get to him and had almost made it, until another rock took her feet out from under her and sent her sprawling down the miniature cliff face. They hadn’t been high up, mercifully, or the damage would have been much worse. Clay, the man she’d been trying to rescue, had been too far gone for even Doctor Griffin to save, but Clarke was… what was Clarke?

Something about ‘critical, but stable’ was confirmed, and Bellamy nodded dumbly, not really taking it in. Later, his first informant was called away, and he was joined by Octavia, who at first tried to embrace him but found him stiff, non-compliant. She let her arms drop. “Just wait it out,” she told him, and he wanted to thank her for not sugar-coating it or telling him he – or Clarke – would be fine, but he couldn’t make the words come. She stayed with him until Abby arrived; haggard, face drawn, but dry-eyed. 

“She’s sleeping,” the doctor said. “I… it isn’t as bad as it looked, Bellamy, I promise. A lot of the blood was Clay’s, not Clarke’s, and her leg’s broken but it’ll heal. Her head…it’s not great. But she’ll fight it.” She paused. “I’m going to sleep in the med bay with her tonight. There’s extra bedding, if you want to be near her.”

At first he couldn’t think of anything that could possibly be worse, but Octavia took both of his hands, and he was forced to register their warmth as she told him he wouldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t go. In the end, she half-dragged him there. Right up until the entrance of the tent, he thought he wouldn’t even be able to look at Clarke, but once he was near enough to see her properly he realised the problem would be ever letting her out of his sight again.

He all but collapsed next to her bed, and at first he dared not touch her, for fear of upsetting one of the tubes that was running over her body and into the rudimentary drip system Abby’d set up. One of her hands was within his reach, though, and he slipped his own underneath it so that her palm was resting gently on his. Despite the caked blood in her hair and the dark red pool visible through the bandage on her head, she did seem only to be asleep.

He watched her breathe.

In. Out. In. Out. 

Matching her pace with his own meant that when her breath hitched and her pulse quickened a few hours later, he noticed immediately. He was about to yell for Abby, who was dozing lightly nearby, but then Clarke’s eyes flickered miraculously open and he bit back the panicked sound that might startle her.

“Clarke,” he half whispered, half croaked, head pounding with tentative joy and relief mingled with the terror and dread that still clogged up his thoughts.

He stroked his thumb over her hand, hoping it would be enough to let her know he was there, because he certainly couldn’t think of anything else to do. He didn’t expect her to reply, not when she was so obviously weak.

Even if he had expected her to speak, he never, in a million lifetimes, would have been able to predict the words she chose. Never would have thought that after almost twenty years of screwing him over, followed by three perfect, idyllic, _impossible_ days of happiness, the universe would be this cruel.

Two words, and they took his heart and ripped it open. Two words, and they were the sickest joke he’d ever heard.

“Where’s Finn?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the UK and I've only seen up to 2x10 so far, so I'm being vague about a few things, since the focus is on the characters. Thanks for reading - if you'd like to read more please leave a comment because I'm really terrible at staying motivated, but am very susceptible to guilt-tripping!


	2. Surface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Might be my fastest update ever. This might have had adverse effects on content, but in the interests of striking while the iron's Lindsey Morgan.... (what?)

They'd said they would split up. She'd seen the merit of the idea, meaning as it did that they'd cover more ground, and were this not a life-or-death situation - were Lexa's army not baying for Finn's blood - she'd have agreed wholeheartedly. It wasn't as if she was desperate to spend time alone with Finn. There was a twinge left in the wake of his betrayal that wouldn't go away anytime soon.  
  
But that didn't change the fact that Finn had killed for her: peacemaking, live-and-let-live Finn, stabbed with Lincoln’s knife one minute and pleading to keep him alive the next. The threat of losing Clarke had sent him over edges she'd teetered on herself from time to time these last few months, and if he was clinging to the fringes of the abyss now she knew it was only because of her.  
  
She was torn between being convinced she didn't owe him anything and wondering if she owed him her _life_ , since he was the only one to put such a horrifyingly high price on it.  
  
As it happened, of course, she didn't have a lot of time to regret the decision to join him in the forest before their new Grounder friend had struck her over the head and everything was pitched into darkness.  


 

* * *

  
  
When she woke up she was momentarily panicked by the fact that she had absolutely no idea how much time had passed.  
  
Eyes groggily open, she waited for her brain to feel up to the task of asking the question, but changed her mind. It didn't matter if she'd been out for seconds or hours or days: what mattered was that the Grounders hadn't taken Finn.  
  
When Bellamy didn't leap straight in with a reassuring answer, Clarke felt dread in unexpected proportions grip at her heart. Behind Bellamy was the familiar backdrop of the camp medical tent. _Shit_. They'd brought her all the way back here - precious time wasted that could have been spent getting Finn back before it was too late.  
  
She shifted her hand, unsure why on earth Bellamy would have felt inclined to hold it, but letting the confusion about that slide. "Did they take him?"  
  
Bellamy was staring dully at her. He narrowed his eyes, as if she were a puzzle to solve, not someone asking a valid and important question. "Clarke..."  
  
She had a feeling she would be more panicked were her head not throbbing and filling her consciousness so inconveniently with pain. The first few wakeful moments had had a clarity that was now forgotten as the fog settled in her mind.  
  
Bellamy bit his lip, as if considering what to say. But why would he need to? It was a simple enough question. "What's the last thing you remember?"  
  
She would have frowned, but had a feeling that might hurt. His evasion and dumb-playing overrode her discomfort and kick-started irritation. The words were still slow and slurred, but she hoped they were laced with disapproval nonetheless. "A Grounder hit me over the head, Bellamy, what am I supposed to remember? Where is he?"  
  
Something wasn't adding up about the look in his eyes. She and Bellamy were....friends? By now? They'd been through a lot of things, and she valued his insight and bravery, even if she didn't always like him a whole lot. Either way, they were familiar enough with each other now that she could tell when he was just being an uncommunicative dick, and when he was actually lost for words. Clearly she'd missed something.  
  
"How long have I been out?"  


 

* * *

 

  
_He's dead, Clarke. You killed him, Clarke._  
  
Bellamy had never been one for mincing words, or holding back. Secrecy had its place, even between friends, once in a while - but usually he would find some way of telling it how it was sooner or later.  
  
But now, even as the words formed in his throat, he swallowed them back down.  
  
Maybe it was because he'd heard from someone, somewhere, that concussion did strange things and it wasn’t best to shock a fragile mind too early on. Head injuries were complicated, he knew that much, and clearly Clarke's had thrown her timeline a little off. Was he supposed to jump in and set her straight, or would that only make things worse?  
  
_He's dead, Clarke. You killed him, and then you grieved and were alone for so long I almost stopped hoping you'd ever come back and be you again._ __  
  
Yeah, maybe whispers of medical knowledge were still lurking in his mind, from a time before dropships and reapers and Earth, when there were books to read to pass the lonely nights spent on Octavia-watch while their mother went 'out'. Maybe that's why he couldn't tell her.  
  
Or maybe he couldn’t tell her because _he couldn't tell her._  
  
He'd seen what Clarke Griffin's eyes looked like when they were dead. He didn't want to be the one to make them look like that again.  
  
"A...while."  
  
It was all he could think of to say.  
  
She looked lost, and he didn't blame her. The relief that she was awake and all sorts of alive was very welcome, but this unreasonably sour brand of amnesia, not so much.  
  
At least in a way, it meant the forces of the universe were back on track.  
  
Abby, awake now, uttered a low, “Thank God” at the sight of Clarke’s open eyes, and hurried across the tent. She paused momentarily to drop a gentle kiss on her daughter’s cheek, before hurriedly checking vitals, and adjusting the tube that was attached on the inside of Clarke’s elbow.

“Mom? Did they take Finn? Just tell me. I can take it.”

Abby shot Bellamy a frown, and he nodded. He mouthed _last time_ , and motioned toward his own head, hoping she’d understand what he meant.

Evidently she did, and he closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Clarke’s face when she heard the words.

Clarke hadn't been lying when she'd said she could take it, obviously he was aware of that. She had colossal inner strength that made him feel weak at the best of times, but it seemed unnecessarily cruel of fate to make her take this particular hit all over again, when she’d finally been able leave it behind. And it would be two blows at once - the fact that she'd killed Finn, and the fact that Lexa's later abandonment of the alliance had rendered the painful act worthless after all. 'Fair' was a word that had more or less fallen out of Bellamy's vocabulary completely since coming to the ground - maybe since Octavia was Confined, even - but if the concept of unfairness had ever applied, it did now. 

“They took him, sweetheart. There’s nothing you can do.”

Good words, Bellamy thought. Gentler than he’d have managed, just vague enough not to cut too deep too quickly.

Clarke was quiet.

“Shush, baby, I know." There was a slight rustle of activity, while Abby clearly looked for something. "I think you need to get some more sleep.”

He opened his eyes, and saw Abby pulling a syringe away, her face ashen. Clarke looked drowsy again, and a few moments later, she was out. “Sedative.” Abby said quietly, redundantly. “She needs real sleep if this is going to heal, and I’m not sure…. I don’t think telling her everything right now is going to relax her much.”

As if suddenly drained, all Bellamy could do was nod.

Abby came to the foot of the bed to check on the cast on Clarke’s broken leg, and Bellamy stood up, knees sore from staying in one position for so long. Abby shuffled toward him, and they watched Clarke, side by side, for a minute or two.

“She’s going to find out eventually.” His voice was despondent. 

Abby sucked in a deep breath. “She made her peace with it before. She’ll do it again. And it’s hard to tell with this kind of memory loss – it might come back of its own accord if she’s given enough rest.” She knew they weren’t comforting words in themselves, but she didn’t have much else to offer. Medicine had advanced astoundingly over the last few decades, eliminating almost all of the major health concerns that had plagued previous generations, but matters of the brain were very likely to stay mysteries. Clarke could remember more, or lose more, or stay exactly as she was – it was a waiting game.

“So we just lie to her?” She couldn’t tell if he was angry, or just clarifying. What did it matter, anyway?

“I’m not saying that. Just… she doesn’t need all of the truth while we want her to be concentrating on getting better.”

He swallowed. It was a sensible way of doing things. Didn’t make it seem any fairer.

Abby stole a glance at Bellamy’s drawn features, and patted him lightly on the shoulder. Poor kid. “All right. I think you need to sleep almost as much as she does.”

Bellamy shook his head mutely. Then, “I’m fine. I don’t want to…someone should be here.”

“I will be. And I promise to come for you when she next comes round, all right?”

He showed no sign of moving. Abby slipped wordlessly to the tent’s entrance and outside, and Bellamy couldn’t decide if he felt abandoned or vindicated. Either emotion felt distant enough that he didn’t much care. The golden light of yesterday already felt like ancient history, and all that had come in between was dark. 

Abby reappeared a minute or so later, Octavia in tow. He managed to hold it together even though the sight of her worried face felt something akin to a punch in the throat.

“I’m all right,” he murmured into her hair as she wrapped her arms around him, and thought bitterly that that was exactly the problem. He was far more all right than he deserved, and Clarke far less than _she_ deserved. He was tired of everything being wrong. 

In the end, he let Octavia lead him out of the tent, much as she’d forced him to enter hours (centuries?) before. He’d never been a natural follower, but the energy to resist was so far removed that he convinced himself that she knew best.

Someone had to, after all.


	3. Resolve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up hating where this chapter ended up, so allow me to slip this edited version in its place. Nothing to see here....nothing to see.

 

Dawn came. Bellamy awoke just after first light, but lay still and listened to his sister breathing, from where she was curled up across from him. A smile made its way across his face. Awake, Octavia was as fierce as she was loyal, could be ruthless, always passionate, as though every beat of her heart stoked the fire in her, even after everything she’d been through. Asleep, she might easily be six years old again, face washed clean from Grounder paint and eyes closed softly as though she were still a little girl, dreaming of what it might be like to go to school and play with other children.

She was so beautiful. She grew to look more and more like their mother every day, but Bellamy marvelled at how much stronger, how much better, his little sister had become. He’d never disrespect Aurora Blake’s memory, but he couldn’t help but think there were things she could have handled better, ways she could have helped him cope instead of handing him all the responsibility – a child himself, with another life on his conscience. Octavia had taken that life in both hands and lived it in ways their mother could never have imagined. Sometimes Bellamy was so proud of her it hurt.

He wondered if she’d told Lincoln not to expect her in the quarters they now shared, or if Lincoln had come to his own conclusions that night. Neither man was in any doubt of Octavia’s devotion to themselves or each other – but Lincoln knew that if it ever came to it, her loyalty to Bellamy would take precedence even over their strong connection. For reasons very different to the Ark’s population laws, siblings were rare in Grounder culture too. Fertility was precious and rare and usually short-lived. Lincoln understood what it meant that the two of them had each other.

Bellamy sat up, thankful to note that the rest had done him good and he no longer ached at every joint. Octavia’s eyes flicked open immediately at the tiny noise his movement made, and he grinned at the sight of his little warrior. “Good morning.”

She rubbed her eyes and stretched out her arms. “Morning, big brother. Did you sleep OK?”

It wasn’t a question many of the hundred had ever bothered to ask each other – most of them had brought nightmares down to the ground that were only compounded by what met them there, and sleep was only a necessity - one usually broken by night watch shifts or nocturnal attacks. Still, Bellamy appreciated her concern. “Good.” It must have only been four hours or so, but he felt like a new man.

He slipped out of the bed and went in search of water. There was a kru working on plumbing for the entire settlement, but without the full complement of machinery, progress was slow. Priority had been given to families with small children, older people, or the disabled. Bellamy was lucky none of his war wounds had lingered – there were comrades who wouldn’t walk again, despite the best efforts of Wick’s prosthetics kru.

Washed, and having retrieved a change of clothes from his own quarters, he went to camp centre and sat with Miller, Luke and Monty, fellow early risers who hadn’t waited around – Monty had concocted something plant-based for breakfast which smelled amazing, so Bellamy took what he was offered.

“I’m just gonna trust this isn’t anything hallucinogenic,” he said dryly, raising grins from Miller and Monty.

Answering Luke’s unasked question, Miller supplied: “There was this one time…with some nuts that shouldn’t have got eaten…not Monty’s fault, but he _was_ the resident herbologist at the time.”

“Because that’s a word,” Monty quipped. Miller elbowed him, and Luke nodded in understanding. Bellamy vaguely remembered him from his time on the Ark – he’d been a member of the Guard too, and a fellow disadvantaged orphan, but not one who’d shot any politicians to sneak on board the dropship. He and his girlfriend, Glass, had arrived along with the rest of the Ark’s remaining population and formed part of ‘the halfway generation’. They’d always supported Bellamy and his comrades their own age in the conflict against the adult rule, but weren’t part of the hundred’s society, would never really understand what it was to be one of them.

“Have you seen Clarke this morning?” Miller asked Bellamy.

He shook his head. “She should still be sleeping. She came round for a little while but she was all confused and Abby sedated her to give her some healing time.” He curled one hand into a fist and felt his nails dig into skin. He couldn’t help feeling like they were lying to her already, even as she slept. The Clarke he knew would want to be awake and asking questions.

“Confused?” Monty inquired.

Bellamy paused, wondering if he could give the short version of what exactly had happened in the med bay without sounding too sorry for himself. “Probably just concussion, but she’s….forgotten some stuff.”

Nobody asked, but he found himself continuing anyway. “She thinks she’s just been attacked by a Grounder, way back, when they were still…before Mount Weather and the Alliance.”

Monty gave a low whistle. Miller nudged him, “But she’s gonna be OK, right? Once her brain gets its shit together?”

Bellamy shrugged. “If it ever does.” He clenched his fist harder, focusing on channelling all his anger about the accident into his palm. There was no assailant he could kill, no enemy to make pay for what they’d done to her, just a falling rock and blind but evil chance. He wasn’t used to not having an opposing side to take it out on.

A minute or so passed in strained silence, nobody feeling particularly chatty in the face of Bellamy's intense staring match with the tabletop. Luke, less accustomed to the other man’s outbursts, found himself staring at Bellamy in bemusement. Normally he could see why the guy had quickly become the leader of the delinquents, but he seemed worryingly volatile at the moment.

The silence was broken by Jasper’s arrival at the table. He sat down on the other side of Monty and greeted them all. Everyone except Bellamy made an effort to sound cheery, as if nothing untoward had happened – Jasper was finally starting to act like Jasper again after the loss of Maya and it was nice to have him back. Bellamy took the opportunity to leave while they were all distracted by the newcomer, and only Miller’s eyes followed him from the scene.

He took a walk past the medbay, but all was quiet inside and he couldn’t bring himself to go in and watch her sleep, not yet. First, air.

He walked until he became aware of Miller’s approaching footsteps.

“I don’t need checking up on, Miller,” he said, his voice a warning. Miller stood his ground, just frowned at him, as if he knew that eventually he would get answers. Bellamy broke his gaze and stared down at his hands. “She woke up asking for Finn.”

Miller balked. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry, dude.” Miller thought, _at least she’s alive_ , but he didn’t say it. It didn’t need saying, not between the two of them, because staying alive had become a luxury a long time ago and none of them needed reminding of the people who had no ' _at least'_. “And the two of you…”

He hadn’t had a chance to congratulate Bellamy on finally getting what they’d all known he wanted; he’d hardly even seen him in those three short days. He wanted to acknowledge the fact that he knew, but didn’t know how to make it any better. Mount Weather had held him prisoner while the whole Finn thing had been going down out here, but from what he’d heard it had been rough on all of them. It would suck for Clarke to have to relive everything from that point on. 

“I guess not anymore,” Bellamy said hoarsely. "Probably for the best." 

Miller shook his head. “Nah, don’t tell me you believe in that ‘wasn’t meant to be’ crap. She hit her head, Bellamy, it wasn’t Finn cockblocking you from beyond the grave. Just an accident. The two of you will work it out.”

Bellamy nodded. Miller was right, of course, there was no need to read cosmic justice in what had happened - it was just bad luck. Somewhere, a part of his brain understood that there was no real reason why they wouldn't be able to return to where they'd so recently been as regards each other, and he willed that part to silence the louder, more insistent voice that was saying the chance had been and gone.

Over Miller's shoulder, he saw Abby emerge from the medbay and wipe her forehead with the back of a hand. "I should go," he said to Miller.

He and Abby had some planning to do. Somehow, they had to figure out a way to break Clarke's heart over again, or else help her mind retrieve the lost records on its own. One way or another, Clarke had to know the truth.

 

 


End file.
